“I don’t eat puke.” He grimaced.
We went through this routine often. It was our morning ritual.
“I’ve never seen fog this thick before.”
“I know.” He checked his watch. “It’s already seven and it looks like five.”
I nodded. The Huey in front of us was a pale shadow, and the one I knew existed in front of it was totally obscured.
“ITO?”
“Probably. When was the last time you did an instrument takeoff?”
“Flight school.”
“Me, too.”
Farris came swirling out of the fog carrying a steaming cup of coffee. “Just talked to an air-force pilot. Says our valley is filled up with this fog, but it’s clear at the peaks.” We nodded. “We’ll wait an hour to see if it burns off.” He continued walking and disappeared behind us.
“Where’d you go last night?” I asked.
“Over there.” Resler pointed toward the GP.
“The tent?”
“No. See that kind of ditch up there?”
“Oh, yeah. Man, if they had kept it up—”
“I know. One of these days, they won’t stop.”
An hour later Farris told us to put our gear inside the ships. He and Riker were going to take off with some other ships, and he wanted us to listen in on the radio. He’d tell us how high up the fog went.
As I followed Resler down the slope, carrying my flight bag, I veered off to the left—nothing very unusual, except that I was trying to walk straight. When I leaned to the right to change course, I kept going to the left. I didn’t feel dizzy, just strange. I stopped for a minute and tried it again. I felt myself being tugged off track again but was able to ignore it. When I reached the ship, the feeling had gone. I shook my head. I’m coming apart.
I strapped in while Resler tuned the channel Farris would be on. We listened while Farris called the ships going with him. He asked if we were on the net.
“Roger,” Gary answered. Six more ships waiting with us rogered in turn.
“There’s no hurry,” Farris radioed. “We’re going back to Kontum to pick up some troops. You guys can meet us anywhere along that valley we followed yesterday. We should be back through in an hour.” We rogered down the line.
While Farris talked, I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Ten feet to the right of our ship, a gray mortar round stuck out of the grass. I punched Gary. He followed my finger and nodded. His eyes rose in surprise.
“I’ll be damned!”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Farris. “The fog ends about five or six hundred feet up. Just make sure you take off due west when you leave. Remember, there’s mountains on both sides of you.”
“Roger,” Gary answered. “Yellow One, there’s a mortar round stuck in the ground next to us.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a mortar round from last night stuck in the ground right next to us.”
“Roger. Call the ARVNs. They might have a demolition squad here.”
I lit a cigarette and stared at the round. It was just about where I had been lying last night.
Gary raised the liaison officer, an American who stayed with the ARVNs. “Roger, we’ll take care of it. Don’t try to move it yourself.”
We both burst out laughing. “Lucky he told us,” I said. “I was almost out the door to defuse it.”
As courage gathered in each of the seven ships, one would announce he was leaving, and we’d hear him flutter up into the mist. Gary and I decided that the round wasn’t going to explode, since it hadn‘t, so we waited. Neither of us felt entirely confident about the ITO. If we had the time, why not wait to see if the fog burned off? The last ship left. They radioed back that the fog was still about five or six hundred feet deep.
“Guess it’s not going to burn off for a while.”
“Guess not,” I said.
“Wanna go for it?”
“Yeah.” I looked at the mortar round. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I stared at the round as Gary cranked up. Would it be sensitive to the rotors when they started to thud? I guessed I’d never know if it was. “Top-notch demolition crew them ARVNs have….”
“You see ‘em coming?”
“No.”
“Oh. Yeah. Top-notch.”
Gary set the artificial horizon low for the takeoff. “Okay, Bob, you double-check me on the way out.”
“Right.”
“Everybody on board?”
“Roger,” answered the crew chief. “Sir, you sure we shouldn’t wait a little longer?”
“Relax, Sergeant. We got this thing under control.”
“Roger.” He didn’t sound convinced. Gary looked over at me and smiled. I nodded.
When he pulled in the power, I glanced at the round. The grass around it was pressing down in the rotor wash. Did it just move? The ship drifted off the ground. The round disappeared along with everything else.
There was no sensation of movement. The artificial horizon was right where it was supposed to be, and the airspeed was picking up. Gary let it accelerate to about 40 knots and held it there. Turn and bank was fine. “Needle, ball, airspeed” was the slogan we learned in flight school. I checked the instruments in that order. Gary was right on the money. White nothingness extended in all directions. The ship hummed, the instruments said we were moving, but the senses said we were parked in some strange void.
“So far, you’ve got a double-A ride,” I said, referring to the grading on the check-ride sheets our instructors used to carry with them. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“No sweat,” said Gary.
The whiteness grew brighter. It blazed. But still you could see nothing. Without reference to the inside of the cockpit, you would swear you were blind. The bright white grew bluish, and we saw a dark-green peak off to our right. “Yea,” I said, cheering.
“Great flying, sir!” The crew chief was now a believer.
I looked back. The misty sea beneath us hid the valley where midnight mortars lurked. The mountaintops were bright islands at the surface. I felt a shudder of relief and smiled to myself. It had been a bad night, but the sky was bright ahead.
11. Transfer
I don’t think the elections will result in a Communist or neutralist government, but if they do, we will fight. I don’t care if they are elected or not, we’ll fight.
May 1966
Riker and I sat together in the sling seat of the C-123 as it droned to Saigon. My feet rested on the flight bag that contained everything I owned. I was not coming back. Riker was on his way to an R&R flight to Hong Kong. Since I volunteered to transfer out, I wondered why I already felt homesick for the Cav.
“You see Resler break Eight-eighty-one?” Riker said.
“He didn’t break it; the new guy did.”
“Yeah, but it was Resler’s ship.”
I’d said good-bye to Gary as he walked out to the flight line with the new guy, Swain, in tow. Gary was checking him out, to see how well he flew.
“Probably won’t see you again,” said Gary.
“Probably not. At least not if I see you first.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Well, it was fun, even if we did argue a lot.”
“No problem. I always won anyway.”
He grinned and extended his hand. “Gotta go check this new guy out. I’ve got your home address. I’ll write you after our tours are up.” We shook hands.
“Yeah, do that. Let’s keep in touch.” I nodded and let go of his hand.
“See you.” He smiled and turned toward the ships.